


Top Twig

by sarcastrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastrow/pseuds/sarcastrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Rose off to Hogwarts Ron takes Hugo on a boys day out. Based on the BBC series Top Gear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top Twig

  
[](http://s682.photobucket.com/albums/vv182/Sarcastrow/?action=view&current=toptwigbanner.jpg)   


Top Twig

 

“Where’re we going, Dad?”

“As I told you, you’ll find out when we get there, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to have a good time.” Ron smirked and ruffled his son’s hair. “With Rose off at school and your mum busy with the minister today it’s just us boys, and I thought you’d like a day out, so we’re off. Get your coat and meet me in the garden.”

“Are we Apparating?” asked Hugo excitedly.

“Get your coat,” Ron said with another grin, and headed through the kitchen to the back garden.

 It was nearly autumn; the apples hung red and crisp on the old tree by the shed and he picked one as he pulled the door open. Several brooms leaned against the wall: his old Cleansweep, still serviceable and well tended over the long years since he received it as a gift from his parents; the Kitchen Joy four seater that they had bought when Hugo was born; Hermione’s wide and comfortable Witches Pride dual; and Ron’s own pride and joy, his Italian Totagliari Inferno Super Sport. The handle was enameled in bright red. Each twig on the brush had been hand selected and shaped by a bevy of beautiful Italian women. The twining holding the brush in place ran through special holes drilled in the handle piece and the whole of the brush was triple bound to the handle. Racing foot and knee braces fabricated in carbon fiber by a motorcycle manufacturer near the Totagliari factory in the Tuscan hills completed the ultra light, insanely fast and highly maneuverable broom.

Ron had been floored when Hermione, Harry, and Ginny had presented him with the broom on his thirtieth birthday. He found out later that Hermione had kept the secret for almost a month, and he was surprised and impressed. She usually couldn’t last ten minutes with something that big, and she had tried. He remembered well the morning she had found that she was expecting Hugo. She was bustling around the kitchen preparing Ron’s lunch and her own, and leaving Rose’s breakfast out for Lavender to feed her. Ron had known there was something up early on, when she kept bursting into giggles. He leaned against the wall of the shed and let the memories flow.

“All right, out with it,” he'd said as he wrapped his arms around her middle.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she'd said with a smile in her voice.

He'd huffed and kissed her neck. “You’re rubbish at secrets you know. Something’s up.”

She'd turned in his arms and smiled up at him. “You think you know me that well, do you?”

As long as he lived he would never tire of looking into her eyes. Deep brown pools held his heart and soul. “More than you think,” he'd replied.

“I wanted to wait until this evening so you’d be able to work today, but” – she'd jiggled in place, with as wide a smile as he’d ever seen – “I’m pregnant!”

It was one of his happiest memories, and he often called upon it when he needed his Patronus. They’d spent the rest of the morning in a sort of bliss, and when Lavender had arrived to begin her day as the nanny and protector for Rose and James she had been just as excited as Hermione. As the Potter and Weasley children’s dedicated security, his friends Lavender and Seamus knew exactly where Ron was taking Hugo today

“Wow, the Super Sport!” Hugo cried as he emerged from the door.

“Feel like hanging on tight?” Ron asked his son with a wink.

“You bet, Dad!” said Hugo, as Ron mounted the gleaming broom.

“Okay, you’re in front.” Ron helped his son sit on his thighs, and he grasped the handle just in front of Hugo’s. “No strap today, so don’t get careless.”

Hugo turned and looked at him with pure joy written on his face. This would be his first ride on the sport broom, and the first time that he hadn’t been wearing a child safety strap. “I’ll take care, Dad. I promise.”

“Right then. Oh, and don’t go bragging to your mum. I don’t fancy kipping on the couch tonight.” Hugo nodded knowingly. “Here we go!”

The broom rocketed into the morning sky. Hugo was shouting at the top of his voice, and Ron could not help but laugh along. He’d only given the broom about two thirds of the thrust it was capable of; even so Hugo’s weight was pushing firmly against him. When they accelerated past thirty miles per hour the wind shield charm activated, and a small, cone shaped, clear bubble about twenty inches in diameter formed just in front of the tip of the handle. He pulled his wand with one hand and cast the Disillusionment Charm, then he stowed it and leaned into Hugo’s back. The broom responded with another burst of acceleration and Ron took it up to “ridiculous speed” as he liked to call it. The sales brochure said the top speed was two hundred and twenty eight miles per hour. Ron believed that they lied, because he was certain he’d done faster.

Ron squeezed Hugo with his elbows and pitched them into a tight corner around the church steeple in Ottery St. Catchpole. His heart swelled. Hugo was matching his movements and riding as though he’d been doing it all his life, as in fact he had. He made up his mind right then to give Hugo the SS as a birthday present some day. Hermione would insist on some safety charms, but he knew his eldest. There wasn’t a charm in the world that would last long at the end of Rose’s wand.

Ron swooped down to just about a hundred feet above the ground and followed the road leading out of the little village. It soon joined a larger road that went for miles across the plain. Small farms and villages passed under them, and after about half an hour Hugo pointed to a gleaming line of cars coming up on their right side.

“What’s that, Dad?” he asked.

“That’s the M3, Hugo,” Ron told him. “One of the major motorway routes into London. It’ll be easy to follow it in.”

“We’re going to London?”

Ron smiled at his son’s back. “Oh, didn’t mention that, did I? Yeah, we’re going to London.”

“Diagon Alley?” Hugo asked excitedly.

“You’ll see.”

The countryside grew more and more populated. The small farms gave way to orderly rows of houses, and then another large motorway crossed the one they were following.

“The M25,” Ron told his son.

“It’s huge, Dad! Look at the size of that roundabout.”

“That’s not a roundabout; it’s the junction of the two motorways. It’s called an interchange. Hang on.” Ron brought the broom down to around fifty feet above the cars and then veered off the track of the motorway to fly over a series of small lakes. “Have to stay low around here. The Muggle airport, Heathrow, is just a few miles that way.” He pointed to his left, and Hugo saw several large aircraft approaching the airport.

“Wow… they’re…”

“Yeah, I know.” Ron chuckled to himself. “Your mum’s only got me up in one of those once” –He shook his head – “Never again. Ah, there’s the Thames.” He turned right and started following the gentle bends in the river. “Have to keep a good watch out here. There are the aircraft, the eclectricty cables.”

“Electricity, dad.”

Ron shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. More than one broom flight has ended tragically around here. First wizard to be E Lec Tro Cuted, I got that right?”

Hugo smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, well the first one, Avarile the Unlucky, flew into a line somewhere near here.”

 He swerved suddenly, hugging Hugo with his forearms, and a grey-white blur passed on their left. “Not to mention the bloody pigeons. Merlin, they’re everywhere in London. Rats with wings, I tell you.” Ron brought the broom to within a few yards of the surface of the river.

There were many boats along the bank of the river at one spot they passed. “Those are different,” Hugo observed.

“Canal boats: narrow boats they call them. Used to be the way practically everything moved in England until the railway lines were put in. There was even a mooring at Hogwarts.” He smiled. “You’ll get to see it before the sorting. They still bring the first years in that way.”

“Oh, _that’s_ the boat ride Rose complained about!”

Ron laughed. “Your sister doesn’t feel comfortable on anything but a broom.”

“Too right, Dad.”

They flew on, and the river grew wider and more populated with boats. Most were moored along the shore or in the many marinas they passed, but some were out on the early morning flat calm water. They were passing through an area of warehouses when Ron slowed the broom. The windshield charm winked off as he turned toward the bank. He brought them down into a yard surrounded by a rusting fence behind one of the warehouses and lightly touched down.

“This way,” he said, and led Hugo by his invisible hand toward the dilapidated warehouse. A large sliding door stood partially open and Ron guided Hugo into the gloom of what looked like a disused garage area. When they crossed the threshold the Disillusionment Charm broke and suddenly Hugo could see dozens of other people in wizarding garb bustling about the large room. A man sitting at a desk next to the door looked at his clipboard.

“Names?” he asked.

“Hugo and Ron Weasley,” Ron replied smiling at his son.

Hugo sniggered as the man looked at them, down at his clip board, and then his head snapped up and he did the same double take that he’d seen people do his whole life when introduced to his parents.

 “Oh… Yes… Um, Mr. Weasley, a pleasure it is to meet you. We’ve been expecting you.” The man looked him up and down, and then his eyes widened and he froze as he stared at the broom in Ron’s hand.” Is that... is that a Totagliari?” he said in awe.

“Twenty Ten SS,” Ron said with pride.

Hugo had just noticed the large banner on the wall opposite the door. “Top Twig! Dad we’re at Top Twig!”

Ron laughed. “Are we? Are we really? Imagine that,” he said, and the guard gave him a wink.

 “Didn’t know you were coming today, eh?” the guard asked. “Well young Master Weasley we’ve some special treats for you and your dad. Oh, and Mr. Weasley sir, I wonder if you’d mind if I spoke to Mr. McLaggen about your broom. We’ve only ever had one other Totagliari on the show and that was a Mondogari two seat, not an SS. I’m sure The Stag would like a lap on it if you’re amenable.”

Ron laughed. “Sure, and tell Cormac I’m crushing _his_ lap time today.”

“You’re doing a lap?” Hugo was practically dancing with excitement. “That’s so cool, Dad!”

“Carol,” the guard called to a tall blonde woman in a green jumpsuit who was helping a couple through a double door in the wall opposite the door they had come through. She smiled at Hugo as she approached.

“Welcome to Top Twig, young man,” she said, and shook his hand. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Hugo, Hugo Weasley.”

Her eyebrows shot up and she looked at Ron and then back to Hugo. “That you are; that you are. Well Misters Weasley if you’ll accompany me back to the green room we’ll get you sorted.” She led them trough a small side door and down a hallway to a room with several comfortable chairs, a couch, a table overflowing with foods of all kinds, and a small table with a stack of photos of Ron. She turned to Ron as he propped his broom in a corner. “The staff and some of the guests would love it if you’d sign for them.”

Ron smiled at her. “No problem, just queue them after the show. I’ll be happy to.”

“Thanks awfully. You know some folks we have in get offended, but I’ve heard you’re very gracious about this kind of thing. It’s nice to know the stories are true.” She patted his arm and left.

Hugo looked up at his father, the question in his eyes.

Ron shook his head at the memory. “After the war we, your mum, Aunt Ginny, Uncle Harry and I, were being shuffled from one event to another, and early on outside one of the event halls we were accosted by at least a hundred people wanting autographs, or to shake our hands, or to just say thanks. Well, we fled back inside. I was tired and hungry, and I started complaining. I just wanted to leave, but Dad took us aside in a little room and gave us one of his … lectures.” He chuckled at his son’s nod.

“Did he take his glasses off and start polishing them?”

“Oh yeah.”

“A long one,” Hugo said, and rolled his eyes.

Ron shrugged. “Not as long as you might think, and he was nice about it, but he was also deadly serious. ‘These people waited for you,’ he told us. ‘They are the reason you fought, and a lot of them fought too. They lost friends and family just like we did. Like it or not you are now symbols, celebrities, and your life will not be your own for a while no matter what you do. They _need_ this, and _you should_ give it to them. These people deserve their moment, and you should be there for them. Be kind and generous with your time. If there’s two, two hundred, or two thousand, it shouldn’t matter. You stay, and you smile, and you sign the lot. So go on now, get out there, all four of you.’” Ron laughed at the memory. “He’s a great man, your granddad. Smarter than a lot of people know. He certainly knows how to get people to do the right thing.” He ruffled Hugo’s hair and then smoothed it while he said, “so, ever since then we’ve signed autographs whenever we’re asked.” He chuckled. “Oh, and I needn’t have worried about being hungry. I swear every third woman had a pie for us.”

The door opened and Cormac McLaggen walked in followed by Roger Davies and a smirking Draco Malfoy. “… And he gets the position. Oh, Weasley, there you are. I was just reminding Draco and Roger how you scraped by getting the Keeper position in my seventh year.”

_Still the same old Cormac, pompous arse,_ thought Ron. “Good morning Cormac, Roger,” he said, shaking their hands, and then he looked at their companion. “Malfoy,” he said with a nod and a smirk.

“Weasel,” Draco returned. The two men looked at each other with stern expressions for a few moments, and Cormac looked between them with a growing unease on his face. Ron cracked first and began to laugh, then Draco joined in. “So, Scorpius tells me your daughter inherited the Granger intellect: good thing for her.”

Ron shook Draco’s hand. “We should disown them both, you know. Imagine a Malfoy not in Slytherin and a Weasley not in Gryffindor.  I couldn’t believe it when they were both sorted into Ravenclaw. How are we supposed to keep this family rivalry going with the two of them in the same house?”

Draco looked at him with the derisive expression Ron had always hated when they were at Hogwarts. “I think we’ll find a way.”

Ron laughed. “Seriously, Draco, Rose wrote that Scorpius is keeping up with her in their studies. You should be very proud. Rose is bloody brilliant, and that he’s keeping up with her…”

“Sorry to break up the proud dad contest,” said Roger, “but we have a show to record, and you, Ron, have a lap to do, so let’s get you suited and run.”

“We do the lap first then?” Ron asked.

“Moves the show along more smoothly if we don’t break in the middle of the interview to rush out and watch the guest fly around the Thames for ten minutes,” Cormac told him.

“Yeah, that and we don’t have to Confund as many Muggles if we do the run before nine thirty. The river's pretty quiet till then,” Roger put in.

Ron nodded. “Got it.”

“So this is a Totagliari SS,” said Roger as he ogled the broom in the corner. He looked at Ron with raised eyebrows. “May I?”

Ron laughed. “Help yourself, mate.”

Roger picked up the broom and gasped. “I’ve never held one before. Wow, this can’t weigh but four pounds!”

“Three pounds twelve ounces,” Ron said with a laugh.

“How’d they get the Muggles to make these foot rests and knee braces without violating the statute of secrecy?” Cormac asked.

“Dunno,” said Ron. “Hermione might, she visited the factory when they were building it.”

Draco laughed. “Haven’t been to Italy, have you, McLaggen?”

“No.”

“Well, Cormac,” Draco drawled, “the Italians have a relationship with the law and rules that’s one of convenience.” He laughed again. “They play by the rules when it’s convenient.”

Cormac rolled his eyes, conceding. “I see. Well, Ron, would you mind The Stag putting her through her paces?”

“As long as I get to watch, not a bit.”

Cormac clapped his hands together. “Great, we’ll get your run in and then hand the course over to The Stag and your broom.” He looked at Draco. “Oh, and one more thing: you know how this goes, right? We take the Michael quite a bit from each other; it’s persecution really, but it’s all good fun.”

“For you lot,” Draco quipped.

“Yeah, right.” Ron laughed. “Well I’ll be treating Mr. Malfoy here with all due courtesy. With our history, if I treat him roughly there are people who’ll take it the wrong way.”

Roger nodded. “True,” he said. “Let’s get you dressed and down to the test course. Your son can come along if he likes.”

Hugo beamed at his father. “I think he’d like that, yeah. Come on, kiddo. Let’s go and have some fun.”

Roger led them along the hallway and down a flight of stairs to a dressing room. There he presented Ron with Top Twig racing overalls, in an unblemished white with the Top Twig logo emblazoned on the back and Ron’s name across the left breast.

“You get that as our gift,” Roger told him. “Now, a few things about our trusty Twenty Eighteen Clean Sweep; she’s been ridden hard but never crashed, so don’t be the first.  She corners better than you’d think but her acceleration’s not what you’re used to by any means. Carry as much speed as you can through the turns. The only tricky bit on the course is that zigzag at Brom’s Head. I suggest you hug as tight as you can to the tree on your left and then shoot nearly straight across the lane and curve right round the bridge abutment. That’ll shave a few seconds off if you get it right.” He chuckled to himself and handed Ron a crash helmet. “Everybody wears one, even you.”

Just then a door opened, sunlight streamed in, and a person dressed in the same white suit and gloves with the same white helmet on strode into the room. Their face was completely hidden by the visor of the helmet, and the words “The Stag” were written over the left breast of the suit. The Stag gave Ron a polite nod.

“Dad! It’s The Stag!” Hugo was in a state of bliss known only to nine year old boys.

Roger produced a camera. “Shall I take a few snaps?” He posed Ron and The Stag side by side, back to back, and then shaking hands. Lastly he had Ron hand his broom to the silent person in the helmet. Then he called Hugo forward. The Stag held Ron’s broom while Hugo mounted it and sat in full racing position. Roger took several photos of The Stag pointing out various bits of the Totagliari. At the end Roger suggested that Ron and The Stag stand side by side and lean their shoulders together. The Stag had to stand on a box as Ron was a full head and a half taller. Roger hefted Hugo up onto both of their shoulders and took several shots. “That’ll be in the magazine,” he said, smiling to himself. “I’ll send along a full set,” he told Ron.

Throughout the entire process The Stag had been completely silent. “Doesn’t talk much, does he?” Hugo asked Roger.

“Not really.” Roger laughed. “Time to fly, Ron. They’ve got the audience out in the riverside stands. Let’s go.” Roger, Hugo and the two dressed in white made their way out of the door and down a short walkway to the riverside. To Ron’s right was the Thames, making its way into the great metropolis and then on to the sea. On his left, just beyond the building they had come out of, was a row of stands with perhaps three hundred people sitting on them. At the appearance of Ron and The Stag they broke into wild applause. Sitting in front of the stands, hovering dutifully, sat the Cleansweep.

Ron handed Hugo the Totagliari. “Keep it safe while I’m off on that pathe… particularly practical broom.”

The Stag shook in silent laughter as Cormac’s voice filled the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special treat for you today. Our guest is known throughout the wizarding world, he was Gryffindor keeper from ninety-five to ninety-seven, hero of the resistance, a member of Dumbledore’s Army, Auror, best friend of Harry Potter, and my friend too, Ron Weasley!”

_Git,_ thought Ron, walking over to the Cleansweep as the crowd roared.

Cormac joined Ron at the broom. “Well, Ron, any thoughts on how you’ll attack the course?”

“Er… well I thought I’d try not to crash.”

The crowd laughed, and Cormac slapped Ron mightily on the back nearly toppling him. “A brilliant plan, mate,” he said, then turned to face the stands. “Let’s get started. As you know, the course record on this year’s broom is one fifty-eight and thirty-two one-hundredths, set by The Stag. The closest competitor is Ellen Macintyre, seeker for the Holyhead Harpies, at two minutes three seconds exactly.” He nudged Ron. “Your friend, Harry Potter, had the third fastest time on the course two years ago with two eleven forty-one, and that was on the twenty-fifteen Cleansweep. Think you can beat him?”

“I’ll be barred from Sunday dinner if I don’t,” Ron told the audience. He was only half joking. Hermione had promised him a “very special reward,” if he were to best Harry’s time. It seemed she had a wager with Ginny that she was very keen on winning. He mounted the broom and gave it a test pitch from side to side. It felt heavy and stiff after the light and flexible Totagliari.

“Ready for your warm up lap then?” Cormac asked.

“Suppose so,” said Ron. He waved to the crowd, shook Cormac’s hand, and lowered the visor on the helmet.

Cormac turned to face the river. “Illuminate the markers!” he shouted, and forty small red and green beacons lit up along the riverside, on bridge abutments, and hovering over the river. They were arranged in pairs spaced about fifteen feet apart and the object was to fly between them. Ron had seen diagrams of the layout and watched photos of various celebrities challenging the course in the Top Twig magazine. He had a better than fair idea of what he was up against, and Harry had provided him with a few details that would help him even more. He smirked to himself; they were in for a surprise today.

“And we’re ready,” Cormac continued. “This is a practice lap for Ron Weasley. On your mark!” Ron braced his feet on the start line. “Go!” the burly host shouted, and Ron kicked off with all his might.

“Oh, bloody hell.” Ron laughed as he leaned into the broom coaxing everything it had in the way of acceleration out of it. The Cleansweep responded with about a third as much thrust as the Totagliari had given him with both him and Hugo aboard. Ron leaned all the way forward on the handle, wrapped his hands in a golf grip on the very tip, unhooked his feet and legs from the braces, and crossed them under the brush hooking his heels on the twigs. The broom speeded up a good ten miles per hour.

Back at the stands Ron’s comment, relayed to a set of bell shaped horns facing the crowd, had the audience sniggering.

At the end of the straight were three sets of markers defining the long sweeping turn over the river. “Come on, come on, turn you piece of…” he muttered.

Ron pitched the broom into the corner, carrying most of the speed he had built up in the straight. Once through the turn, he dived toward the next set of markers, hovering a few feet off the water near the end of a pier. A medium-sharp corner and he was heading back across the river directly toward the stands. Three more markers outlined the hairpin in front of the stands. Using his heels as a rudder he forced the ends of the bristles down while he rocked his weight back on the broom and threw it into the corner. The combined effect was to take him through the corner at a very respectable speed while the downward thrust from the brush as he dug into the corner threw up a twenty foot high spray that washed toward the crowd. Dozens of shield spells bloomed in front of the stands.

“Sorry about that,” he said. The water splashed against the shield charms and momentarily obscured the crowd’s view of the course. Meanwhile Ron was coaxing the Cleansweep back up to speed. “You could do with a little more power there, girl,” he said to the broom.

Four sets of markers defined the zigzag on the opposite bank of the river. Just as Roger had told him, there was a marker next to the tree standing on a small promontory jutting into the river and another on its right side. He felt the leaves of the tree brush his left side as he cornered hard around it and headed straight for the bridge support. Twitching the broom subtly to the left he shot straight across the course and scraped the concrete of the bridge pillar with the side of his helmet.

“That would have hurt,” he muttered to himself.

Ron’s comment came from the bell shaped horns facing the crowd and they laughed again. Hugo was watching intently through his omnioculars and muttering, “Go Dad,” and, “yes,” every few moments. He saw his father brush the side of the bridge, then disappear for a moment as he leaned in and raced toward the hairpin on the opposite bank. Then the omnioculars picked him up making the same kind of corner maneuver he had done in front of the stands, then shooting back across the river. A thirty degree corner in the middle of the river, another sixty degree corner near the bank, and he was racing for the finish line. As he crossed, a thundering applause came from the stands.

“That was absolutely incredible!” Roger Davies' voice echoed on the riverside. “On his practice run Ron Weasley has scored the fifth lowest time at two minutes, fourteen seconds and twenty-one one hundredths. On his practice run!”

Ron brought the broom back around to the start line, stopped, and flipped up the visor on the helmet. Hugo rushed up and shouted, “That was great, Dad.” In a much lower voice he said, “Uncle Harry’s in trouble, isn’t he?”

Ron beamed at his son. “I think so. You know I saved a bit for the real run.” He winked at Hugo.

Suddenly Cormac was there. “My goodness, Ron, you’ve been keeping a talent from us. That was the fastest warm up lap we’ve ever seen. Got any left for the competition run?”

“Ah, Cormy,” he said, and watched Cormac turn red. Hermione had told Ron that that was what she had called Cormac the whole of the night she had endured his companionship, and he had complained every time she had said it. “I think there’s a little left in the old girl yet.”

Cormac recovered, and only slightly flustered, said, “Yes, right, well, are you ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

“Alright, Top Twig Fans, this is the official run for Ron Weasley!” Cormac told the audience. “As always we will be confiscating the challenger’s wand to make sure there’s no messing about.”

Ron unsnapped the front of his suit, reached in and drew his wand from the pocket in his vest that he carried it in. _For what I’m about to do I don’t need you, my dear. Stay safe,_ he though as he handed it to Cormac.

“Are you ready?” he shouted.

Ron nodded and got into his take-off stance.

“Alright, everyone, on your mark.”

Cormac pointed at the crowd. “Get set,” they cried as he conducted them. He raised his arm above his head, and then brought it down fast.

“GO!” the audience yelled.

Ron kicked off and flattened his body on the Cleansweep. As it accelerated he smirked and muttered an incantation. The soles of his shoes flattened and elongated until there was a three inch flipper jutting from the toes. This gave Ron a good deal more control and he whispered a second incantation as he entered the first corner. Using the broom as his wand he channeled his magic through it, and a wind shield charm bloomed just off the tip of the handle. The broom speeded up another fifteen miles per hour and Ron chuckled. “Rules say no wand, not no magic.”

Back at the stands the crowd was by turns overjoyed and apoplectic. They were on their feet shouting and cheering and arguing among themselves at Ron’s blatant rearranging of the rules.

“He’s right,” Draco said to the crowd through the public address horns. “Although we’ve never had someone use magic in quite this way, there’s no rule against it.” He turned from the crowd and laughed out loud. “Oh, Weasel,” he said to himself, gasping for breath. “That was a Slytherin move. You had me fooled all these years.

“I knew he had more in him than we saw at school, Draco my love, a lot more,” a soft, feminine voice said from beneath The Stag's helmet.

Draco chuckled and looked around to make sure they were far from prying ears. “Yeah, I suspected as much, Pan. You had an entirely un-Slytherin crush on him, didn’t you?” he said in a whisper.

“A little, though no one can match you, my love.”

His eyes bored into the dark face shield. “Tonight, your place,” he said low and lustily.

“I’ll be ready,” was her soft reply.

While Draco was arranging his latest tryst with his mistress Ron was tearing up the course. He had carried a huge amount of speed through the long corners and was approaching the hairpin at the stands again. This time the audience was prepared and the shield charms formed well before he reached them. As he carved into the corner the spray of water was so large it splashed against the walls of the building behind the stands. It was one of those moments when everyone falls quiet and a lone voice pierces through the silence.

“That was bloody brilliant! Kick arse, Dad!” Hugo’s shout was heard by everyone on the riverside. A moment later they were howling with laughter.

Ron was using the paddles on the ends of his shoes for a kind of fine control and as he entered the zigzag he pushed them to their full extent. An eruption of leaves flew from the side of the tree where he actually took off a few small branches, and a moment later he gathered a swath of paint from the bridge support on the side of his right arm. “Like that one?” he asked the audience.

They could hear him grunting with effort as he negotiated the last few corners at a speed the broom was clearly not designed for. It shuddered and bucked in Ron’s hands as he crossed the finish line significantly above the brooms rated top speed. He cornered over the river, shedding some momentum, and coasted to a stop in front of Hugo. The boy leapt into his, arms and the crowd cheered.

“Dad… Dad…” Hugo was having trouble expressing the thousand thoughts in his head competing to be spoken. “That was… Uncle Harry’s totally stuffed now!”

Ron looked at his son sternly. “Hugo Weasley!” he said loudly. “Don’t let your mother hear that,” he said in a whisper, then he broke into a smile and laughed and even more quietly said, “Yeah, I kicked his arse, didn’t I?”

Cormac came running up to Ron and Hugo. “Well, Weasley, now we know how you got that keeper position, bending those rules!” he said slyly, and slapped Ron on the back. Cormac did the sonorous charm and addressed the crowd. “We’ll reveal Ron’s time in the interview, but now a special surprise. My friend, Ron here brought his own broom today, and we thought we should get a lap out of it.” He spread his arms wide. “Some say he’s a maniac just released from Azkaban, some say he’s an insane Muggle cab driver from here in London; the only thing we know is he’s called The Stag. Ladies and gentlemen, with the Totagliari Inferno Super Sport, The Stag!” Pansy, in her white disguise, stepped out from behind the stands with Ron’s broom in her hands. The crowd cheered wildly as she made her way to the start line.

Pansy had ridden several Totagliari brooms in her life, so she had a fairly good idea of Ron’s broom’s capabilities, but still a thrill of excitement raced through her. A Totagliari SS was the fastest, most maneuverable broom a person could buy that wasn’t a purpose built racing broom. Even then, stock SSs sometimes won major races. In the end it was all about the rider, and Pansy was a great rider. She hadn’t gone out for Quidditch at school because she hated to participate in the physically violent aspect of the game. Watching it was fun; being pummeled by bludgers was not. No, Pansy preferred racing. It was purer in her estimation, but her parents would never allow her to participate in something as plebian as racing, so she had created an alternate identity.

The Stag had won twenty-four major races. She had arranged with the board of administrators of the International Broom Racing Federation to remain anonymous even to them. And her career in racing had spanned several seasons before the Top Twig producers approached her with the idea of testing brooms for the show. She’d ridden every current model broom from the British, American, French, and Japanese manufacturers. She had also ridden most of the Italian brooms but they were almost all custom manufactured for a very rich clientele. Totagliari, in addition to their one-off models, made the Inferno SS model line and the two seat Mondogari, but even they were custom fitted to the individual owner.

This presented Pansy with a small problem. She was a foot and a half shorter than Ron, and the seat and knee brace positions were set up for him. With a flick of her wand she charmed the knee pads of her suit to elongate and enlarge until they fit into the knee braces as she mounted the broom then she charmed the soles of her shoes to attach to the downward strut for the foot brace. She gave the broom a quick side to side shimmy to test her seat and then nodded to Roger.

“The Stag is set!” Roger announced to the audience. “On your mark! Go!”

The broom with the 8 stone woman aboard was a blur as it left the start finish line. Pansy did not have a sound relay in her helmet so no one heard her say “Holy shit!” very loudly. She assumed her tucked riding position with plenty of room to spare, and the windshield charm winked on. Pansy pitched the broom into the first corner. “Damn, Weasley,” she said as the g-forces pressed her down on the handle. Half way through the corner she gave the full speed command to the broom and was pressed not only down against the handle but very firmly back on the seat. Her face was starting to hurt from the smile.

Back at the start line Ron was watching intently, trying to gather some extra style pointers from The Stag. “He’s amazing, Dad,” Hugo said from his side.

“Yeah, I’ve never gone that fast, and I thought I’d pushed her to her limits.”

Pansy was now at Brom’s Head. She twisted through the chicane rounded the bridge and was blasting back across the river in three seconds. “Stag’s not too bad at this is sh… he?” Draco’s voice said from behind Hugo. Ron smirked. He’d caught the slip but decided not to say anything, and he turned to face Draco.

“Yeah, amazing really.” He smiled at his old enemy. After the war Draco Malfoy was a changed and very repentant man. His family had once again escaped prosecution for their misdeeds, and they knew why; everybody did. Luna and Harry had gone to their trial and testified on their behalf. Luna had told the court that the only reason she had lived through her captivity at Malfoy Manor was because of Draco and his mother. Harry then told the court that the only reason he was alive was that Narcissa had lied for him, to the Dark Lord. And, as the Priori Incantatem had shown, Lucius had not cast the Avada Kedavra. He’d done Imperio and Cruciatus many times, mainly on Luna, but that was forgiven on her insistence and his promise to use what remained of his wealth and power to help the less fortunate rebuild their lives. That he had somewhat begrudgingly done, but Draco had taken it as a challenge.

“You’re on the ballot for one of the open Hogwarts governor positions, I see,” said Ron as he turned back to watch The Stag charge across the river on his broom. “I’ll be casting my vote for you. You’ve really done well, Draco. Honestly, I didn’t think that was possible, but you’ve impressed the hell out of me.”

Draco looked stunned. “Seriously, Weasley?”

“Call me Ron, and yeah, seriously,” said Ron. He turned to Draco again, and put his hand on his shoulder. “We should be friendlier. The letters I’m getting out of Ravenclaw Tower are telling me that our children have become close friends in a short time. I've a feeling we could be seeing each other more often.”

“You’re Scorpius's dad,” Hugo said with a note of realization.

Draco knelt down to be at eye level with the boy. “Yes, I am, and you would be Hugo, Rose’s younger brother. “A pleasure to meet you, young Master Weasley.”

Pansy was approaching the audience, and taking a page from Ron’s book she forced the tail of the broom down and carved a deep corner in the river. _They’re going to have to move the stands_ she thought as yet another wall of water was deflected by shield charms. Her thighs were starting to protest as she made the last few corners and headed for to the finish line. A small vapor trail of condensed mist formed behind her when she pushed the SS up toward its maximum speed and crossed the line.

For a little added show she flew down the river about a mile, turned, and flew back past the stands as fast as the broom would go in a straight line. Two more vapor trails formed behind the ends of the leg braces, joined the one coming off the brush, and merged into a spiral of white behind her. _I’m jealous, Weasel. This is the finest broom I’ve ever ridden._ She flew out over the river one last time in a long, sweeping arc, then brought the broom in for a landing next to Ron, Hugo, and Draco.

“Excellent,” said Cormac through the public address system. “The Stag has put in another astounding run. We’ll get the times for Ron and The Stag sorted while you all make your way into the studio, and we’ll see you in just a few minutes.” He made a grand gesture towards Ron, Draco, Pansy and Hugo. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Ron Weasley and The Stag.”

An energetic round of applause followed, and then Draco was at Ron’s side. “Let’s get you back to the green room and out of this suit.

Ron smiled at him. “Why Draco, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.”

Draco looked stunned for a moment and then chuckled. He patted Ron on the back and started toward the door to that they had come from. “Come on, Your Majesty.”

Hugo looked puzzled and asked, “What did he mean by ‘Your Majesty ‘dad?”

Ron held the door for him as he went through. “It’s an old joke from school. Your mum tells the story better. Ask her tonight.”

In the green room Hugo wandered over to the buffet and picked out a sandwich, while Ron got out of the jumpsuit and back into his trousers, shirt and outer robe for the interview. “What’s going on right now?” he asked Draco.

“Roger and Cormac are relaying the story of our latest ‘Cheap Broom Challenge’,” he said and the smirk that Ron had grown to loath in school crawled onto Draco’s face.

“Alright, out with it,” Ron said.

“Yeah, okay,” he said through a laugh. “This week we had to find a second-hand Twyllydd Robin.” He shook with barely suppressed laughter.

“That Welsh pile of crap?” Ron asked, incredulous.

Draco huffed and said, “Worst part is we were only allowed to spend a hundred and fifty galleons each!”

“I wouldn’t give you two knuts for one,” Ron said. “Where’d you find one that still flew?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Draco said and the smirk was back. “But I found three.”

“You took the best one, and gave the others to Cormac and Roger, didn’t you?”

Draco tisked and motioned for Ron to sit. “No, no, too heavy handed. Didn’t you learn anything from Pansy and me?” He smiled. “I did take the best one of course, then I took the other two and had a friend in the Cotswolds and another in Yorkshire advertise them in the Quibbler. McLaggen and Davies hadn’t a clue. They’re about to find out though, it’s why I’m not up there. They’re going to want to kill me.”

Ron look bemused for a moment and then he grinned. “What did you do?”

“Nothing much, just let a few woodlice lose on the handle of Davies’, and cut almost through the brush twining on McLaggen’s.”

“That’s… funny as hell, Draco,” Ron laughed. “I like Roger, but Cormy?  The more misery, the better as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yeah, he is an arrogant toerag, isn’t he? You know I was there at Slughorn’s party, for a short while at least.” He looked at Ron sideways. “Your wife was not having a good time.”

“It was that obvious?” Ron said. He hadn’t seen Hermione that night, and Harry had been tight lipped about it on Hermione’s orders, but Ron had talked to a few other party goers. He knew most of what had happened.

“She looked like she’d been mauled. You’re not going to curse him are you?” Draco asked, still smiling. “Because if you are I want a front-row seat.”

“No, if he needed cursing Hermione would have done it at the time.”

“And you’re sure she didn’t?”

Ron shook his head. “Actually, no, I’m not.”

A laughing woman Ron recognized as Carol, the woman who had initially escorted them, entered. “Mr. Malfoy!” she laughed again and then composed herself. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time. The photographer caught the moment Mr. McLaggen’s broom came apart in mid flight. The audience is still laughing. And what was that Muggle stuff that they used to fix the handle of Mister Davies’ broom?”

“Duck tape they call it,” Draco told her. “Amazing product, I don’t think they actually make it from ducks, though. There are a lot of spells that don’t work as well as that does.”

“Hermione insists we have a few rolls around the house,” said Ron. “Her father showed me how it worked before we were married. Very useful, it is. It's got a magic all its own.”

Carol looked at Ron. “If you’re ready, Mr. Weasley, we’re prepared to do the interview.”

“Yeah, alright, let’s do it,” said Ron. “Do you want to come and watch, or stay here, Hugo?”

“I’ll take him up to the lighting booth,” said Draco. “It’s a more interesting view of the show. Scorpius prefers it; I’m sure Hugo will too.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Ron said, and then knelt down to his son. “Don’t touch anything and do as Mr. Malfoy tells you. Okay?”

Hugo nodded. “Yeah Dad, I’ll be good.”

“I know you will.” Ron ruffled his son’s hair and stood. “Well, Kiddo, let’s go and see how I did”

 

The studio was lit by antique spot lights that had been charmed to follow the directions of the lighting master in the booth. Hugo was completely entranced by the way the man was directing the fixtures with his wand. Through the large window at the front of the booth Hugo could see the whole of the studio. McLaggen and Davies were still fuming about the sabotage Draco had carried out on their brooms. The audience was in stitches at the constant stream of near curses and threats to Draco’s life that erupted from them every few seconds.

 A swan Patronus appeared in the lighting booth and spoke with Carol's voice. “Mr. Weasley is ready.” The lighting master directed the spots onto McLaggen and a doorway to the left of the stage.

A man pointed at McLaggen and he addressed the audience. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, now it’s time to put a star on our reasonably priced broom. Today we have a very special guest. Many people know him as one of the Golden Trio: I knew him long before the legend. He, his wife, and Harry Potter were in my house at Hogwarts, and the stories are _mostly_ true.”

A laugh ran through the audience.

“When he won the place of Keeper for the Gryffindor team we knew there was more to him than just being the friend of the most famous boy at the school. Then, after his well publicized heroics, he won the heart of one of the most beautiful witches I’ve ever known. Ladies and gentlemen, hero, Auror, co-manager of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and all around nice guy, Ron Weasley!”

Ron stepped through the door and the audience applauded enthusiastically. Ron had grown accustomed to it over the years but still his ears tinged red. He waved to the crowd as he ascended the stage. “Thanks, Cormac,” he said, and shook McLaggen’s hand.

“Ah, you're welcome, Ron,” Cormac said, and clapped him on the back. He motioned for Ron to sit in the large, over-stuffed chair opposite his. As Ron sat, Cormac started the interview. “So, Ron, how have you been?”

“I’m well, Cormac, really very good. My eldest is off to Hogwarts, and my youngest is in the lighting booth.” He waved up at Hugo. “Having a good time, Hugo?”

“Brilliant, Dad!” Hugo shouted down.

After the laughter died down, Cormac continued. “And your wife,” – he looked out at the audience – “Hermione Weasley, in case you’ve been living under a rock, is a rising star in the ministry. Assistant to the Minister, that’s quite an achievement.”

Ron smiled broadly. “Well you know her: she won’t stop till the job's done right.”

Cormac raised his eyebrows. “Lucky you. Now, you brought your own broom today, and we were all eyeing it back stage.” Cormac looked back out at the audience. “Ron here brought his Totagliari SS, and we just couldn’t let that fine piece of Italian workmanship pass without giving it a go.” He turned back to Ron. “So how fast have you had it up to?”

Ron shrugged. “Can’t honestly say, Cormac. Somewhere between insane and totally ridiculous.” The audience chuckled and clapped. “Not as fast as The Stag, though.”

“Yes, well, on that, we have his lap time here.” Cormac looked down at the parchment in his hand and gasped. “I had no idea.” He looked back up at the audience gape-jawed. “The Stag turned in the fastest lap ever this morning.” He pointed his wand at the time board where The Stag's lap times were posted. “The Stag did a complete lap in,” – he looked back down at the parchment in wonder – “one minute… thirty,” – those in the crowd who were familiar with The Stag’s lap times gasped – “four, and thirteen one hundredths. A full _three seconds_ faster than the French Dolcet.” He looked at Ron aghast. “Your wife lets you ride that?”

Ron chuckled. “She bought it.”

“Wonderful woman, that is.”

“I’m aware,” Ron said smiling. “She and my sister and brother-in-law surprised me with it on my thirtieth birthday.”

“Now I really am jealous!” said Cormac. “Well, you and Harry Potter were instrumental in the reorganization of the Auror Department after the war. How do you think it’s going now?”

“Quite well, really,” said Ron. “I don’t work in the field much anymore. They have me training the advanced classes, but I often get reports from my former students. We found the last of the Death Eaters years ago, and since then there’s been very little in the way of major crime.”

“What about the rumored kidnapping of your wife and daughter?”

Ron smirked. “You should know better than to trust those kinds of things, Cormac. There have been rumors about all of us since the battle. If even half of them were true we’d all be dead five times over.”

“You have a point.” He looked down at his notes. “Well now, on to your lap.” Cormac looked back up to the audience. “For the benefit of the Wizarding Wireless listeners who weren’t here to see it live, Ron gave the course a right thrashing. When you get your copy of Top Twig magazine you’ll see just how thoroughly. On his practice run he posted one of the fastest times we’ve had.” He looked at Ron. “Ready to see how well you did?”

“Yeah, let’s hear it.”

Ron Weasley, you did it in,” Cormac smirked and let the moment draw out. “One,”

The crowd went crazy. Ron had just been confirmed as the fastest guest ever.

“FIFTY!” Cormac shouted over them. “EIGHT!”

The audience were on their feet clapping and cheering. Ron might even have bested The Stag.

“And… Sixty two one hundredths.” Cormac pointed his wand at the placard that bore the names and times of the guests. Ron’s name flowed across the top in gold script followed by his time. “Only The Stag has been faster.”  The cheers were nonstop as Cormac rose to his feet and gestured for Ron to join him. “That’s all for this episode of Top Twig. My thanks to my friend, and new course champion, Ron Weasley.” He held up Ron’s hand. “See you next time!”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
